


Rebirth

by Tsula



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Language, Murder, Torture, Twisted Bonding, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8278345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsula/pseuds/Tsula
Summary: Your lips tugged into a wry grin despite the obvious threat. Not so much at what he was saying, but at the fact you had thought for even a moment that he would let this go. You had his curiosity now, but sadly it only made things worse. He wanted to open you up and see how you worked, to dissect you layer by layer because you were more interesting than the common sheep. The herds he sold were usually so boring, so routine. Please don’t kill me. Don’t hurt me. Save me. God, please! Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll do anything…“Is that what this is about?” Your tone was so calm, so without inflection it was damn near mocking. “You want to know what I will do to keep you from killing me?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should just hold onto my finished chapters for the unposted stories, but uuuugh... It's so hard to find things I actually feel are postable in my revision folder. So, yeah, another new story. Plus side is I now REALLY want to replay FC3 after reading through this.

The barrel of his gun was warm against your cheek—it hadn’t been all that long since he’d last fired it. Maybe he was itching to pull the trigger again. Perhaps he’d killed so many people that the thrill simply couldn’t last at all anymore. Every surge of pleasure lasted less and less time and he’d made it to the point where it hardly seemed to show up at all. You wondered idly just how angry that made him. 

It didn’t take long to realize that you could no longer find the will to care. So you shrugged as he stared down at you and didn’t bother to hide how little fuck you gave right then. 

“Because unlike the rest of them I’m not afraid of death.” This was your ultimately simple, tantamount to uncaring reply to his question.

Well, more like his multitude of questions. He had gone on more of a rant than anything else about your differences from the others. How you didn’t react the way they did, or the way you _should_ have. How you didn’t think like them, didn’t talk like them. Not once had he ever seen you cry or heard you beg. None of his men had either for that matter.

Of course he had to wonder just why that was. What made you so damn different? 

Normally you just kept your mouth shut and watched them—the pirates and the captives. Sadly, the King of Rook island had been watching _you_ and your lack of fear intrigued him. It wasn’t even that you weren’t afraid, so much as having too much pride and intelligence to show it. That coupled with all the stress had left you more or less numb to their insidious ways. It had been too long since you had slept, since you’d had any peace of mind—frankly you almost _didn’t_ care anymore. “I don’t particularly _want_ to die, but I’m not about to act like a moron trying to prevent it.”

Your tone should have pissed him off. It pissed all the others off, that’s for sure. The few times they had actually demanded a response or you’d just given one without much thought: it’d made them angry. However, the king did not look angry. He didn’t pull the trigger or even slap you for your sass. Instead he continued to look at you as if there were something marvelously stunning about you. The man wasn’t exactly taken aback so much as he seemed unnervingly pleased. “That’s very rational, _very brave_. You’re the first person to be so accepting, so _genuine_.” The gun dropped from your cheek as he let his hand fall to his side. “I respect that.”

It almost felt like that would be the end of it, but the look in his eyes made you think that was just a little too much to hope for. There was something blazing there—something shrewd and dangerous. 

“It makes me wonder,” he tucked the gun back into his belt and this time pulled out a knife. “I just can’t help thinking,” suddenly the metal pressing against your flesh was cold. “What _would_ you do to save your life?” 

Your lips tugged into a wry grin despite the obvious threat. Not so much at what he was saying, but at the fact you had thought for even a moment that he would let this go. You had his curiosity now, but sadly it only made things worse. He wanted to open you up and see how you worked, to dissect you layer by layer because you were more interesting than the common _sheep_. The herds he sold were usually so boring, so routine.

_Please don’t kill me. Don’t hurt me. Save me. God, please! Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll do anything…_

“Is that what this is about?” Your tone was so calm, so without inflection it was damn near mocking. “You want to know what I will _do_ to keep you from killing me?”

His brows were raised either at your voice, your words, or that smile that tugged unbidden at your lips. Perhaps the madness in this place truly was contagious—you almost felt like laughing at him. It was probably the most foolish reply you could muster, but you were beyond the point of true rationality and you’d thrown caution to the wind already anyway. If he was going to kill you, and it seemed very certain that he would, then you would at least have the satisfaction of knowing you’d kept your head high and spoken your mind. 

After all, death didn’t scare you the way it did the others; but the idea of letting him have the last laugh left a god awful taste in your mouth. 

“You think that if you threaten me a little, that if you push just right, I am going to break and start _begging_ , Vaas?” Saying his name out loud felt somehow like the most rebellious act of all. It was like naming yourself the king’s equal. “That suddenly my mask will crack and I’ll cry out something along the lines of ‘please don’t kill me! I’ll do anything you want’ or even go so far as to suck your _dick_? Hm? Is that what all this is about?”

You held his gleaming gaze unflinchingly as he watched you with that unnervingly satisfied expression. It made no sense that he would enjoy this sort of response; he was very much a man that demanded control and you were undermining him at every turn. Yet he was also about as predictable as spontaneous combustion.

The knife tapped against your throat as he leaned in close enough for you to see the whites of his eyes. His lips were slipping into a grin that sunk beneath your skin and hit you with a jolt of something that wasn’t quite fear but wasn’t exactly pleasant either. He slid the tip of the blade lightly down your skin from the soft, sensitive flesh of your throat to the strong curve of your shoulder. 

“Stop toying with me.” You hissed at him, leaning towards his face tauntingly as you pulled at the rope that kept your hands bound to the chair. “If you want to kill me Vaas, then just fucking do it.”

He hardly looked bothered by your demands and seemed far more interested in tracing a path down your shoulder to your chest. “Did I _say_ I was going to kill you? You know what they say about people who assume, don’t you?” 

You weren’t buying it. “Your little minions told me all about it. How you are going to ‘carve my pretty little face up’. How he’d be a blessing compared to you and all sorts of other terrible things.” His eyes flickered up to meet yours and there was something… _different_ there. They were still dark, he was still evil, but something in his gaze was suddenly fiery. 

Had you finally made him angry? Was your lack of concern for his men’s threats the last push that would make him take your life? Make him get this whole game over with finally? 

Even _that_ seemed too much to hope though. It was never so simple with Vaas… and for some reason his eyes seemed to hover a little too long at the fresh bruise blooming under your eye. 

***

You were so tired of _rope_. It was an odd thing to develop a distaste for, let alone a full blown hatred towards. Especially considering all the other options on this hellhole of an island. However, being repeatedly bound and chaffed by the bindings had irked you beyond the point of no return. 

So now you abso-fucking-lutely _hated_ rope. 

During whatever length your captivity had stretched to at this point—it was hard to tell with how often you’d been rendered unconscious or had a bag over your face—there had been maybe three instances where you’d had the full use of your hands. The rest of the time they were bound either in front or behind. Sometimes they bound your legs too, so that two guards had to practically carry you. 

They hadn’t done that for awhile though. Not since it had become apparent that you weren’t as foolish as the others. That you wouldn’t just up and try your luck at running away like all the rest who had tried and failed. 

No, you were smarter than that. If you were to escape, it wouldn’t be in front of witnesses. It would be after they had long since given up believing you had even a spark of hope left inside you. When their guard was down and the dark of night had set in to cover your escape. When you could get your hands on a weapon and possibly a car to increase your odds of surviving on this wild and crazy island. 

Because even if you did escape the madmen, there were other terrible monsters waiting in the dark. You’d heard the screams of the people who met their end that way rather than by the hands of the pirates. It really didn’t seem like much of a way to go, not that dying seemed that great at all. You weren’t afraid of it anymore, but you really didn’t welcome it as eagerly as it might have seemed. 

You just weren’t foolish enough to think begging or playing Vaas’ twisted little games would do you any good in the long run. He obviously knew this, could see it and hear it in the way you reacted, yet he still had some sort of terrible endgame in mind. 

Why else would he have taken you out of that hut? 

Vaas led you along patiently, rather than forcefully as you’d come to expect. His men were forceful, so why shouldn’t he be? 

As you walked just slightly behind him, you realized that his men wouldn’t even look at you. However, you were beyond the point where something like this could surprise you. Obviously your proximity to the King made them wary. You were a slave being treated better by their leader than they ever would have considered and maybe that frightened them a little. It would have frightened you once upon a time. 

He led you down the streets, through the woods, and into a large stone structure that was half-taken by the forest. 

“Wait here.” He said and was gone before you could decide if you should question him or not. 

The building was much more sturdy than the huts you were used to. Older and well used. It reminded you of the place they’d taken you to film your _plea_. The one they’d sent to your family back home vying for money and promising your release—something you’d known even then to be a lie. 

At some point early on in your capture, you might have been foolish enough to run. You were alone in that room, beyond the sight of the guards. It wouldn’t have been that hard to escape… but to what? What was the point of running if you’d just meet your end by the teeth of a beast? A bullet seemed so much less painful. 

Vaas did not leave you lingering with these thoughts for long though. However, when he returned, he was not alone.

He brought in a man with a sack over his head and bound hands behind his back. He all but kicked the man to the ground, where he curled up quickly: likely anticipating more violence. 

You watched the exchange without care or concern. Though you were curious just where the mad king was going with all of this. Did he think watching him torture someone would break you? It wasn’t like it would be the first time you’d seen such a thing. 

Finally he did something that well and truly shocked you. Two things really. First, he removed the bindings on your wrists, and second he pulled the bag off to reveal just who was whimpering beneath it.

Something inside you froze at the sight of him and you were stunned to the point it hurt to breathe. 

You knew that face. Bloody as it may have been you _knew it_. Sometimes you heard his voice at night when the pirates quited down and the loudest sounds came from the trees. 

Your breath hitched and your vision spun, but it wasn’t fear that left you so unbalanced. The shock wore away and what it left behind was _rage_. 

Vaas had brought you your greatest tormentor. 

The man who’d gone above and beyond in trying to break you down. Whispering to you all kinds of terrible things, beating you when he could, telling you how much worse it was going to get if you didn’t play nice… It seemed like he was always the one who came for you, whether alone or with friends. He liked to smack you around when you didn’t answer and would hit you harder when you did.

Now he was at your feet looking battered and broken in all the ways he’d desired for you. 

The guard who’d sat there until Vaas arrived, telling you how he’d hurt you if he could. Talking about how the boss would fuck you and then give his men the leftovers. The big mouthed prick who’s death you had pictured so many times in so many different ways…

Vaas took out a knife, though the guard was still looking at you and thus could not see what his boss was up to. 

“The chains,” the king stated and for the first time you saw what this room was for. You noticed the thick, metal chains coming out of the walls and the stains of old blood that had been hidden in the shadows until your eyes adjusted. 

This was a room made for torture. 

You stepped forward and lifted the chains, following them until you found the manacles and collar that would hold your former tormentor in place. He didn’t try to fight as you hooked them onto him, merely shook and seemed to be trying to hold himself together. Maybe he thought he’d live through this or at least be granted some form of mercy if he behaved. He had to know the fickle, manic workings of his leaders maddening methods. 

Once he was secure, you stepped away and looked to Vaas.

Judging by his stare he’d likely been watching you the whole time. 

He stepped forward, coming closer to his victim and yet he hardly spared the man a glance. Not even when he drug the blade sharply up his arm, earning a muffled cry as the guard tried to hold back. 

Vaas only had eyes for you. 

He watched you more than the man he was cutting into. His eyes catching on your lips when they parted, your hands when they curled and clenched, and you eyes when they widened with anticipation. 

It took some time, but you realized just what was behind this: where his motives lay. He was torturing him _for you_. An offering of peace written in the blood of your enemy. Something about it tickled at your affection in a way that was both revolting and revitalizing. As though you were being brought back to life and changed into something new and stronger. Something tempered by pain and horror. 

_Something that was starting to enjoy it._


End file.
